be either the superintendent, or one of the owners of the works.
"I'm going to fix him!" roared the truckman, who was struggling to climb on top the platform, and did not notice whom he was addressing. "I'll show him that I'll do as I please about the place!"
"He wants to burn me with that red hot stamping iron," returned Franklin, as he pointed to the instrument the truckman held. "He is angry at me because I would not let him use the iron on his team."
"Is that so, Bitters?" questioned the man beside Franklin. "Did you try to burn the horses with that thing?"
By this time the truckman had gained the top of the platform, and he now became aware of whom he was addressing. A change at once came over his face, and he attempted to conceal the stamping iron behind him.
"Excuse me, Mr. Smith," he said, cringingly, "I was after that boy, who tried to interfere with me just now."
"You have been drinking again. Bitters," returned Montague Smith, one of the two brothers, who owned the works.
"Only one glass, sir, for my cold."
"Let me see what you have behind you."
Very hesitatingly, Hank Bitters produced the
